perfection
by Nylex
Summary: Hermione is determined to lose her virginity before Christmas. Amused, Snape decides to help. [Sevione][EWE]
1. I

**perfection**

_[1]_

* * *

There was something in that book.

She clutched it at mealtimes, scribbling in it with a small, narrow quill. Every time someone asked her, she would snap it shut and mutter something about "Research. Potions, spells, that sort." Undoubtedly there were more protective enchantments on it than the walls of Hogwarts, and so despite his curiosity, Snape left it alone. He had been on the receiving end of enough of her hexes to admit that the Granger girl was, perhaps, moderately capable at spellcasting.

But it almost didn't matter, because there was something in that _book_.

Being trapped in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place over the holidays was maddening. All around him, festivities were in full swing, complete with mistletoe and spiked eggnog. Unless the creamy beverage was spiked with Bloodroot potion he wasn't drinking it, and no matter how often the moony-eyed Lovegood creature assured him that Nargles were not, in fact, deadly, he wasn't taking any chances. The house was simply too small for thirty people, all of whom were in despicably cheerful moods since the _snow was falling_, and wasn't that just _lovely_?

He was bored. _Unspeakably_ bored. Snape sniffed noisily and turned a page in his book. At the moment, more than half of the rowdy bunch were outside, making snow angels or having a snowball fight or doing whatever idiots did in the snow, while Mrs. Weasley and Tonks were having a sip of tea in the kitchen.

_Scritch-scratch, scratchy-scritch-scritch._

The Potion Master's dark eyes flicked upwards, full of bad temper.

She was jackknifed into a corner, writing in that ridiculous book with that narrow black quill. Why it was bothering him so much he couldn't tell—perhaps it was because she had been acting quite oddly around everyone, skittish almost, and now she was completely absorbed in her "research". He hated to admit it, but her presence was marginally less irritating than anyone else in the house. At least the Granger girl occasionally had an intelligent, original thought of her own, and not just something she parroted from a book.

_Scratch, scratch, scritch. _

He'd had enough. "What. Are you. _Doing_."

"Research," she answered, biting the end of her quill and barely looking up.

"On _what_, Miss Granger?"

Her cheeks flushed and she snapped the book shut. "It's none of your business, that's what, Professor. And if I'm bothering you so much why didn't you just ask me to move to a different room?"

The young woman stormed out, her nose in the air. Snape eyed the book in her hand.

There was something in it.

And he was going to find out what.

* * *

It proved to be unsurprisingly problematic over the next few days. Snape, well-versed in subterfuge, skulked around the house with more malevolence than ever, growling at people who asked him questions and arching an imperious, deadly brow at those who smiled. The Granger girl was hardly ever separated from the book, either locking it in her room or tucking it under her arm; and despite his new yuletide project, he wouldn't stoop to breaking into a girl's room. Merlin, he wasn't that desperate.

He had tried to prod her into different activities, hoping she'd leave the book behind, but in a flash she'd run upstairs for a jumper, or simply tap the book with her wand and it would vanish to who-knows-where. Snape was confident in his abilities to dismantle the girl's wards, but only if she left the bloody book alone. He couldn't simply _ask_ to see the book. Nor could he take it away without a crowd of people descending on him, and then the plan would be spoilt.

Oh good God, was he bored. Plotting to overthrow a twenty-something witch in order to steal her diary. What had he come to?

And then she just…fell asleep.

It was nearly midnight, and the fire was burning quite low and the lurid Christmas tree looking almost fetching in the dark. He had been pretending to read a Potions journal, but got too caught up in the pretending and when he finally emerged, Snape realized Miss Granger had fallen asleep.

The book was unguarded and lay on her lap, closed, with the quill marking her page. Her bushy hair was falling in her eyes and the quill was leaving a small, drippy stain on the arm of the wing-back chair. He pounced to his feet and cast a Silencing charm, ensuring the girl would stay asleep. Her hand wasn't even on the book.

Honestly, it was a bit anti-climactic.

Tapping the book experimentally with his wand, he disabled two or three of the more minor wards. As expected, there were at least ten layers of enchantments, all growing in strength and effectiveness until he could finally reach out and grab the book without suffering either purple hair, a nasty rash, green toe-fungus, or a hideous, disfiguring pattern of acne that no doubt spelled something rude on one's forehead.

He plucked the book off her lap and leafed through it, taking care with the thin, crisp pages. Rows and rows of neat, almost militant writing filled nearly half the book, and he checked the most recent entry.

_Neville Longbottom_

Pros:

-Kind  
-Brave  
-Compassionate  
-Even-tempered  
-Not likely to blab

Cons:

-Unavailable

Snape blinked. What kind of list was this? Slowly, he leafed through the book, looking at long entries of people with lists beneath their names. Nearly all of them were currently in the house, and he realized almost immediately that they were all men.

_Sirius Black_

Pros:

-VERY attractive  
-Gentle (?)  
-Makes me laugh

Cons:

-Harry  
-Volatile/unreliable  
-May not take this seriously  
-May take this too seriously

Beneath many of them she had scrawled tightly written notes. _Sirius could work_, she wrote carefully, _although he might tell Harry and it would spoil everything. He sees Harry too often as well, it may damage their relationship. Don't want him to remember me that much—would make things awkward._

He turned another page.

_Snape_

The Potion professor blinked.

Written in a bold, underlined type was just the word **_NO_**.

Snape was still working out whether or not to be offended or relieved when he suddenly felt a hex hit him like a sledgehammer, smacking him squarely in the chest and sending him flying backwards onto the hearthrug. Instincts clicked into place and even though the wind had been knocked straight out of him, he flicked his wand and sent an answering curse back towards his opponent.

There was the staticky sound of a spell hitting a shield, and he looked up to see an enraged Hermione Granger towering over him, pointing her wand at his nose.

He had been through two Wizarding wars. He had fought off the likes of Voldemort, Death Eaters, and Dumbledore alike. And yet he still felt an icicle of fear flicker through him, seeing those dark brown eyes so full of hate and shock—hell hath no fury like a young woman who's just discovered her old professor was lecherously reading her diary.

He shuddered. God, he was bored.

All of a sudden, he realized she was on the floor, and looked down at her. She was stiff as a board and looking at him with that same furious expression, although completely petrified. His wand was still in his hand—he had cast the hex without so much as a thought.

"What _is_ this, Granger?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, right."

A flick of his wand. And then –

"_Professor Severus Snape, you give me that back right now!"_ Hermione shrieked, scrambling for her wand. Snape trapped it under the toe of his boot and raised her book to eye level.

"'Draco Malfoy, pros, _attractive_, excellent at spell work, clean hands' – really, Granger, clean hands? You list that among the qualities of a person?" Snape asked.

"I needed at least three," she spat back at him, huffing a cloud of frizzy hair out of her eyes. "And it was all I could think of. Stop reading, please! Give it back!"

"Rubbish, I'm just getting to the good part," he replied dryly, "You've got at least thirty cons on this list for Draco, my, my…I see your precious Potter and Weasley friends aren't in here?"

"Please, Professor, just give me the book."

"Don't fancy them, I suppose?"

"If you don't give me that book I'll scream, I swear I will!"

"There's a Silencing Charm, stupid girl, I also notice there's no mention of any _married_ men in this book. Tell me, are you constructing a _breeding_ list of some kind? Perhaps searching for the proper pedigree to round out your resume?"

There was a beat of silence.

He peered over the top of the book.

She was on her knees, looking as though she might cry, scream, or possibly do both. Finally, she thrust her chin upwards and looked at him defiantly, dark brown eyes narrowed. "It's none of your business what I'm doing with that list. It's purely for my own entertainment. Give me back my wand, and my book, or I'll…I'll…"

"You'll what?" Snape asked, but after a moment he kicked her wand back towards her.

The Granger girl took a deep, shuddering breath, and then picked up the wand. Holding out her hand, palm upturned, she glared at him. "Book. Now."

He held it back, well out of her reach. "Not until you tell me what this is all about. I also notice my name's in here—not planning a list of potential murders, I hope?"

"If I was, you'd be first on the list." She snapped.

After a long moment of silence, she finally said, "If I tell you, and I even hear you breathing a word to someone else, so help me I will hunt you down and curse you until every one of your appendages turns green and falls off. Then I will stick them back on you in a random order. Do you understand?"

Surprisingly, he did. "Quite."

She cocked an eyebrow, clearly trying for a display of aggression. "I'd like to lose my virginity before Christmas. Succumbing to loads of hormonal rot isn't high on my priorities, so I thought I'd make a list and narrow it all down. I don't expect you to understand."

Three things occurred to Snape, more or less simultaneously.

One was the very strong urge to laugh, loudly and hysterically. Here was a young woman (how old was she again? Twenty one? Twenty two?) who had literally been through hell and back, and was now constructing a kind of _list_ of men who could possibly deflower her. He flashed back powerfully on grading all of her essays, of how she had always overcompensated and piled on far too much information, overthinking and rethinking until nearly everything was perfect. It was completely absurd and yet, somehow, it fit.

Two was the rather despairing knowledge that the girl had a book full of men's names, nearly all of whom would probably hex their own bollocks off for a chance to shag Hermione Granger. When he had been her age, coming up with that kind of list would be nearly impossible. In fact, completely impossible—at that stage in his life, before the power and the glory, women weren't exactly queuing up to take a chance with him.

The third and final thought, and the one that lingered the longest and disturbed him the most, was that he felt almost…sympathetic. Or perhaps a kind of kinship. He knew the feeling of trying to construct the perfect situation, the perfect life, to match the fantasy in one's head.

He took a seat and said calmly, "Well, if that's the case, I hardly think Draco would be a suitable choice. He'd never let you live it down, although I imagine marrying a Malfoy could have some unexpected bonuses politically."

She blinked.

"Er…well, yes. And I'm not looking for _marriage_. That's why Ron and Harry aren't on the list, because…you know."

"They're _friends_," Snape said, smiling coldly, "and it would be _awkward_."

"Exactly," Hermione took a seat, seeming relieved. "So I was trying to think of people who would...not treat it with too much ceremony and dignity, but also not just throw me against the wall, either. And yet someone I didn't have to see every minute of the day to remind me."

"Go to a pub, you'll find a decent man," Snape suggested. "If not, try a different pub."

She opened the book and leafed through it, seeming excited, her cheeks flushing pink. "I thought of that, but there's so many unknown factors. Besides, being who I am—friend of Harry's, you know—it would be hard to find a Wizard who didn't know who I was. Or, at least, didn't care. And I'd also like someone without too much baggage—it's so hard to find someone like that in a pub. And there'd be so much planning to do beforehand, naturally. Too many risks, ultimately."

"What," Snape asked after a long moment, "are you exactly _looking_ for?"

Her eyes sparkled cheerfully. "Perfection, of course."

* * *

Something that popped into my head and made me laugh. Haven't written any Sevmione, so I thought I'd start. -_fyrelark_


	2. II

**perfection**

[2]

* * *

"The question is, how frilly should the knickers _be_?"

Snape steepled his fingers and studied the table, his eyes half-closing while pondering his ex-student's curious question. It was nearly one in the morning, and the two of them were sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of peppermint schnapps between them. Half of the vile bottle was nearly gone, as Granger kept adding it to her hot cocoa, which had now gone stone-cold. Thanks to the alcohol and the lateness of hour, Hermione had a strange, wild, intensely-focused look in her eyes, and her hair was frizzed out around her in a thick cloud.

His lips tightened. "Anything pink and lacy is immature, juvenile, and shall forcefully remind people that you are a child, and a virgin to boot. Plainer knickers shall give the impression you never get laid, and stay at home drinking tea and reading books, while cuddling with your cat."

Hermione's gaze sharpened as she frowned and she scribbled a note. "So somewhere in the middle, then?"

"Indeed."

"Dark or light?"

"Dark."

Not for the first time, Severus leaned back and took stock of the situation. Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class, dearest companion of Harry James Potter and member of the infamous Golden Trio, was sitting at a butcher-block kitchen counter, wearing an old nightie and sipping cold spiked cocoa, and asking him for tips about maneuvering a man into bed, while taking copious notes.

Bizarrely, he had been in stranger situations.

She leafed through her notes, her face becoming increasingly frustrated. "This doesn't sound very _romantic_, Professor."

"You asked for my advice. If you want a more feminine opinion I suggest you ask Molly."

Hermione shuddered. "Oh, god, _no_. But…it's just not how I pictured it."

"And how did you picture it?"

She met his eyes warily. "I'm not explaining a sexual fantasy to my old professor. No offense."

He pinched the bridge of his not-insignificant nose. "To correct you, one does not _explain_ a fantasy. And secondly, if you are honestly that squeamish after everything we have just discussed—including, if I might remind you, a detailed discussion on pubic hair length—I must rescind my previous assumption of your bravery."

"I'm not _frightened_, Professor!" the Granger girl spluttered. "All right. I…well, it usually begins with…well, it's sort of…nighttime, obviously, and…" She broke off, and buried her blushing face in her arms. "I'm sorry, it's too bizarre."

"Write me a paper, then."

Hermione picked her head up, a befuddled expression on her face. "What?"

"Write me a paper. As I recall, your essay scores seemed to off the charts, particularly in my classes. Combine the irritating bookworm and the curious nymphomaniac and channel it into a paper. I shall read it and give you my thoughts."

Her eyes shone soppily. "Would you, Professor? Oh, thank you _so_ –"

"Don't thank me until I've gotten back to you. The sooner you write it, the sooner I can read it."

"Of course! I'll get started right away!" she said, and scrambled to her feet. Despite the schnapps and cocoa swilling in her system, she was remarkably steady, and Severus watched her go with no small amount of dark humor. The silly little chit had scurried off to write a paper explaining the perfect cherry-popping experience, and he was looking forward to reading it.

He paused.

Merlin, but that sounded perverted.

It was, in a strange way, but at the same time it _wasn't_. Ah well. He had never been one to debate on morality.

* * *

Hermione twisted her hair into a tight knot and stuck a pencil through it, keeping it away from her face. The conversation downstairs had gotten her worked up in a strange, excitable way—like someone had stirred a spoon in the midst of her emotions. At first it had been _incredibly_ awkward, dealing with Snape in this way, but within a few moments she found her footing. Really, he was being extremely professional about the whole business, and the burden was being lifted off her shoulders. Finally she had found a resource!

She took three inkwells, two quills, and five scrolls of paper downstairs into the basement and lit her wand. There was no shortage of creepy magical artifacts and disgusting anti-Muggle propaganda down here, but once you ignored all the mouse droppings and cobwebs it was actually quite nice. She stuck her wand in a crack in the foundation, and curled up in the corner on some dusty cushions, beginning to scribble with her favorite black quill.

Really, this whole rabbit hole had begun a few months ago, when she had reconnected with Viktor. He had been in the country and they went out for dinner—she told herself it wasn't a date, but she had pinned her hair back anyway, and shaved her legs. To top it all off, she hadn't told anyone where she was going.

There had been a surging of…_something_, she wasn't quite sure what, and they had kissed. Quite passionately. Snogged, really. The next few minutes had been a blur, but she distinctly remembered his hands on her breasts and realizing that she had lost her panties somewhere. Not to mention a very serious man was looming over her with his heavy lower lip clenched between his teeth.

She panicked.

"This isn't right," she had told him. And not in a morality sense, anyway—her original plan had been to lose her virginity on her eighteenth birthday. But Voldemort had come back and spoiled everything, so that had been postponed, and then there was the rebuilding of the Wizarding society. So her sexual exploits had taken sort of a back burner, so to speak.

But it hadn't been _right_.

Her control had slipped, even just for a moment, and _look_ what had happened. She was hysterical, naturally, and fled as quickly as possible, tears burning in her eyes, some huge, overwhelming emotion tumbling down around her ears. There had been some kind of brink, or clifftop, and Viktor had brought her straight to the edge. Tears burning in her eyes, she had summoned the Knight Bus and been promptly comforted by Ernie, which had ended a completely disastrous night.

Oh, Viktor was a handsome enough boy. And she liked him well enough, she supposed—but her first time was supposed to be slow, soft, and romantic. Full of candlelight, and perhaps a bubble bath, and maybe some wine. Not a reckless, headfirst dive into…whatever swirling mass of seething, painful emotion that had been churning and bubbling in her lower stomach.

No, the perfect date would begin with the perfect man. And who was the perfect man?

Someone tall, who could make her feel safe. _(Harry. He's got Ginny, though._)

Someone smart, who could talk to her on the same intellectual level. _(Oliver Wood. And he's in America, damn it.)_

Someone who was incredibly, mind-blowingly attractive._ (Sirius Black. But he's so much older than I am!)_

Money wasn't too much of an object, but the idea of being taken out to dinner once in a while was nice. And of course, he would have to be respectful; she was her own woman, and ordering her around was _not_ acceptable. But she was a bit old fashioned. She was her own woman, and she liked having doors opened for her and chairs pulled out.

Not to mention, he had to be funny. That was Ron's best quality, he really could make her laugh. Someone who was interested in the same things she was, like books, magic, equality for other magical creatures, cooking, and research. Someone with perfect timing, spot-on humor, and devilishly good looks. Conversation would have to be upbeat the whole time, with no awkward lapses of silence.

The restaurant would have to be _perfect_. White tablecloths, red napkins, wineglasses, and at least four courses. Then, after they had eaten an exquisite meal and had scintillating conversations, he would take her hand, look into her eyes, and ask, "Care to come home for a spot of tea?"

And they would. She would go to his house and they would have some delicious, hot, buttery tea, with blueberry scones, and talk about…oh, everything, while they cuddled on the sofa. Or perhaps in an armchair. (She had a soft spot for armchairs.)

Then, slowly, he would turn her cheek with one hand, and they would look deeply into each other's eyes. His eyes were dark blue—no, dark brown. No, black. Dark and intense and passionate, and he would gaze at her tenderly before chastely kissing her on the mouth. She would turn in his lap to straddle his knees, and allow him to kiss her more deeply, before rubbing the hem of her skirt upwards to encircle her thighs softly.

He would take her by the hand and lead her upstairs, into her bedroom. The sheets would be soft and silken, and he would take superb care of her, slowly undressing her until she was completely nude. His hands would be lightly calloused, and he would kiss her again, deeply and passionately, and then press her down against the mattress to ravish her tenderly.

Hermione emerged for air, discovering she had run out of ink. Her breathing was rather heavy and her stomach was flipping—writing all of this down made her feel utterly salacious. Not to mention she was giving this to her teacher! Well, former teacher. But still! Snape! He would be reading one of her innermost, private fantasies. Those long, dexterous fingers would grasp her essay and his dark, unfathomable eyes would scan the pages. And then his delicious, silky-smooth voice would purr, "Miss Granger…" and trail off slowly, and a newfound appreciation would dawn over his face. "This is so…romantic."

And then he would call her beautiful. Maybe even clever. Then he would tuck a curl of hair behind her ear and kiss her on the cheek, folding up the essay to keep in his pocket, perhaps.

She blinked.

_What_ was she doing? There wasn't time for this!

She had to finish this essay! If she wanted to give it to him by tomorrow morning, she had to work even harder. Why, it was only…four o'clock! She only had a few hours to complete this, and then…then, Severus might help her make this dream a reality. Would he really be able to help? Surely they would be able to narrow down the choices. He was an intelligent man, he would be able to help.

* * *

There was a large, spiky black _D_ on the upper corner of the essay.

"You _graded it_?" Hermione gaped.

"I did. It was abysmal. Really, Miss Granger, I'm appalled at you."

Floored, she sat down with a _flump_. "You didn't have to _grade_ it."

"And why not? It was most insipid tripe I'd ever read, and your idealism was dripping through every word. I cannot fathom how a girl who's lived through the worst wizarding war on the front lines and who is, perhaps, passably intelligent, can write something like _this_." He shoved the wad of papers back at her, and her brow knotted, taking them off the table.

"I don't see what was wrong with it," Hermione said slowly, her cheeks coloring and her throat tightening. "It's just…why can't this be a reality? It doesn't seem so hard."

"Your fantasy, Miss Granger," Snape said dryly, "includes a tall, dark, funny, talented, handsome man with money, wine, and an interest in literature, along with an extensive library. You might just want to rename him 'Prince Charming' and be done with it. Not to mention this deep, dark, _sexual_ fantasy of the quote-unquote 'perfect' first time, contains zero sexual intercourse."

The Gryffindor spluttered. "That's not true! Look, right here, there's _loads_ of sex!"

Snape snatched it up and read aloud, "'…and then my lover would take me into his arms and ravish me until morning.' A single sentence. The rest is abysmal filler. So, tell me, Miss Granger: what are you _afraid_ of?"

Her dark brown eyes flashed. "Afraid? I'm not afraid of sex, Professor. _Far_ from it. I've been trying to get laid since my eighteenth birthday, but the war happened, and now is the only chance I've got. I've set myself a deadline of December twenty-fifth, so I won't slack off."

"_Why_ do you find it so imperative to lose your virginity?" Snape queried, arching an eyebrow.

"Because," she gestured vaguely, "it's what one _does_. And anyway, I don't like you questioning my motivations! _How _do I find someone who fits the criteria?"

"You can't. Perfection is not attainable, Miss Granger. Understandably, you don't want your first time to be painful or inconsiderate, but going to this amount of detail leaves me with the impression you don't _really_ want to have sex. Unless you can control every single aspect of aforementioned copulation, you won't be satisfied. I expect no less from a grade-obsessed Gryffindor, but that is not what sex is _about_."

She leaned forward and glared at him. "Don't you lecture me about sex, Professor. Do you know how much research I've done? How many books I've read on the subject? The only reason I didn't include it in my essay was because I _assumed_ you knew it already!"

Snape snorted and folded his arms. "You're such a child."

"Don't _call_ me that! I'm twenty-one; I'm not a little girl."

Those dark, rich black eyes bored into her. "_Sex_, Miss Granger, is a kind of Dark magic. Like all branches of Dark magic, it's powerful, dangerous, corrupting, and feels exhilarating. It's entwined with our very essence, our very core, and when you have two explosive forces—such as a witch and a wizard—meeting together, with enough force to create a new _life_…you cannot underestimate that. At all. And you cannot control it, it's as primal and natural as the desire to eat and sleep. It's dangerous, it's beautiful, and it will _consume_ you, if you do it properly. Once you learn to control it, to tame it, sex becomes a weapon. Oh, you can blunt it, you can keep it to yourself, but Dark magic _wants_ to be used. And so will you.

"So. When searching for a partner, be sure to include that within your search parameters."

He got to his feet and left with a swirl of his black frock.

Hermione stared into empty space, stunned.

* * *

Snape stared at the bowl of gloop, his expression mildly confused.

"Cooking," he said aloud, "has the same basic principles of potion making."

He picked up the whisk and gave it a firm shake to dislodge any lumps. It refused to give, and sank back into the bowl with a wet _splodged_ noise.

"So why are _biscuits_ proving so difficult to master?"

That Potter brat suppressed a chuckle, which was better than the rest of them. The whole kitchen exploded into laughter, thinking it was oh-so-humorous to see their austere Potions' professor roll up his sleeves. His standard black robes and cloak were dusted with flour, and the cursed white powder had settled in his hair, making him appear as old as he felt. He attempted to give them all the Glare of Death, which has silenced so many first years, but Severus was learning that children were easier to frighten than adults. Molly Weasley bustled over, her cheeks pink, still giggling under her breath.

"Oh, dear, Professor," Molly tittered, "you _do_ look silly, all covered in flour! Here, let me show you."

She tapped the mixing bowl with her wand and it dumped itself in the trash of its own accord. "Here, why don't you just wash up, and I'll finish these biscuits," the plump housewife said, shooing him off.

Snape washed his hands ferociously in the sink, hiding his snarl beneath a curtain of black hair. Oh, _god _was he bored! Reduced to making biscuits and giving advice to a snotty Gryffindor princess, while getting laughed at to boot. The humiliated Potion's master nearly left, but he wouldn't leave with such a damaged pride.

He eyed the biscuit mix.

It was _exactly_ like brewing a potion. Why was this not working?

Put biscuit mix into a bowl. Add two cups of milk, one-third cup oil, and two teaspoons sugar. Stir to combine. Bake for twenty minutes in a three-hundred and fifty degree oven.

How _hard_ could this be? The problem was the directions, they were simply too vague. He needed to strategize, to regroup for a moment. Surely the biscuits couldn't best him.

"Professor!"

That Granger girl. Her virginity problems could wait, there were biscuits to brew.

"Professor, please, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to get dragged out of the kitchen. The rest of the house was in a high good humor, some of them still laughing at the sight of the intimidating Severus Snape covered in flour. He ground his molars together—he would _murder_ those biscuits, if it was the last thing he did.

She closed the study door behind them and turned to him, her eyes shining with delight and a kind of wicked innocence.

"Professor Snape, I've decided it should be _you_ who takes my virginity."

His mind still on biscuits, he snapped, "Yes, very well, go on ahead."

"Really? Oh, _thank_ you, Professor! I'll get the room all ready, will midnight tonight be enough? This is so exciting, I'll be finished _three days_ before my deadline!" she squealed, and ran off.

He blinked.

"What?"

* * *

Ahhh, I had fun writing this. Such a cute couple! So many opportunities for humor. The first line still makes me smile. -_nylex_


	3. III

**perfection**

[3]

* * *

Snape covered his nose with a hand. _Merlin_, what was that smell? Was that…_lavender_?

He pushed the door open and stood there, feeling only somewhat bewildered, as his former student Hermione Granger looked up. And that was not at all awkward, because even though his highly advanced and intelligent brain insisted that she was his student, the rest of him emphatically denied this fact.

Because his student did not have_ breasts_, smooth and creamy and oh-so-close.

His student did not have _legs_, long and luxurious and beautifully toned.

Nor did his student wear dark red lingerie, trimmed with white, which displayed her youthful, slender, _gorgeous_ body to perfection.

No, the Miss Granger he knew had wild frizzy hair, buck-teeth, with coltish, gangly limbs and knobby elbows. The annoying, hand-in-the-air-every-other-minute Miss Granger he knew didn't look like _that_, not every inch the stunning young woman, with innocent, chocolate brown eyes and gently curling, blonde-brown hair. It had to be some kind of trick.

"Professor! I'm so glad you could make it!" she whispered excitedly.

Ah, there it was. The worshipful awe and respect she always reserved for teachers was in her voice. Hearing that all-too-familiar voice come from that minx was making his head tilt to the left of its own accord. She noticed his gaze and beamed, adjusting the strap of her red, lacy panties.

"Do you like them? I ordered them from a catalogue this afternoon. You said dark, and I wanted something rather Christmasy. Not to mention red is the color for passion and white is for purity, so it works from a research standpoint as well!"

He needed to sit down. After doing so, he took a slow breath.

"Miss Granger."

"I've been thinking about what you said, about sex being a Dark magic, and you're _right!_ Once I saw it from that point of view I had to start all of my research all over again, with completely different parameters. After spending the whole afternoon narrowing down my choices, I –"

"Miss Granger."

"—and I had to ask myself, what wizards do I know that are especially well-versed in Dark magic? Lupin is out, obviously, although he's _so _sweet, and that just left you and Mad-Eye; so obviously I picked you! Isn't this thrilling?"

"Miss _Granger_," Snape said, unable to stop himself from staring at the soft breasts bouncing just out of his reach. They were _in_ his reach, actually, but not specifically _in his hands_, which needed to be rectified sooner rather than later. "You do realize this is entirely inappropriate."

"But it's not," she answered excitedly, much too chipper, "see, if you look at it from a research perspective—"

"This isn't research. It's a young girl experimenting with sex, and whether it's a Dark magic or not is entirely moot. However you try to pretty it up, Miss Granger, I would still be fucking you in this hypothetical scenario. And by doing so, performing an elaborate heist on the cradle."

She sat down with a _flump_, which did very interesting things to her cleavage.

"You're not attracted to me," she said dully.

Did she not have _eyes_? The girl may be a virgin but even bloody Catholic nuns knew what a man poorly hiding an erection looked like!

"That is not the case, I assure you."

She opened her pretty mouth—to apologize, to protest, or to wheedle, he did not know—and then suddenly the door flew open.

"Hermione, we were – oh, _Merlin!_"

It was the Potter boy. Snape's very Slytherin mind clicked through possible scenarios in the fractions of a second available to him, while Hermione stood there, close to tears and looking horrified. There were very few plausible ideas, but Severus was obscenely grateful that the Potter brat hadn't come in later, when his self-control might have waned. What would be the excuse then? _Miss Granger tripped and fell on my genitals, and I was merely helping her off of them. Fetch us some cooking oil while I attempt to dislodge her, there's a good lad. _

Suddenly, Snape stood with a whirl of his cloak, sneering down at the Potter boy, who looked as though he were about to be violently ill.

"It appears as though we have _both_ stumbled upon Miss Granger as she waits for her consort. The next time you wish to entertain male guests, Granger, do us all a favor by putting up some decent _wards_ at least!"

Snape then left as quickly as humanely possible, hoping his walk wasn't as awkward and stiff as he felt.

* * *

"Were you and Hermione…?" Harry asked, looking at him with a small eye twitch.

"No."

"Thank Merlin," the boy gasped, sitting down and burying his face in his hands. "I just…God, I couldn't handle that."

"Neither could I," Snape replied dryly, taking a sip of Firewhiskey.

There was a long moment of silence, in which only the ticking of the clock could be heard.

"I wonder who she's waiting for," Harry finally mused aloud.

Snape paused.

"An idiotic git, no doubt."

* * *

He saw Hermione the next morning, looking disheveled and rather like she had cried herself to sleep. Part of him felt…_guilty_? No, not quite the right word. He had done the right thing, obviously, in denying his selfish desires and refusing to sleep with her, despite the instant and obvious attraction. And if she was upset by this fact, it wasn't his concern. She was a child, despite her newfound well-endowed bits, and he was a grown man pushing forty. For the first time since this whole bizarre week began, he had to stop and _think_ and not let his boredom threaten to overwhelm his decision making skills.

So when he saw her later, sniffling a bit to herself and looking very depressed, picking through dusty books in the library, he did _not_ feel a twinge of regret, and absolutely didn't consider that perhaps he had passed down the chance of a lifetime; and that perhaps he might have found someone, who's presence was not intolerable already, who could stand to be around him for more than five minutes. He had never been accused of being and optimist, but there had been some chance, hadn't there?

Without speaking, he sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry," she finally said quietly. "I shouldn't have put you in that position. I should find someone my own age, I should, and I will. I just…you seemed like you know what you're _doing_, and I don't want to…I don't want to _fall_. Do you know what I mean?"

Yes, he did.

She didn't want to fall for someone. In her mind, losing one's virginity was simply another task to check off the ever-increasing and daunting checklist of Things To Accomplish In My Life. Somehow she had skipped the lesson about losing one's virginity to a person who mattered to them, and instead opted for the person most qualified. And yes, most certainly, he would be taking advantage of a naïve and idealistic young girl if he consented to this.

"Falling," Snape began, "is a fact of life. And to take one's mind off that, you must appreciate the descent. Only then can you begin to imagine the beauties and intricacies of descending, and you may come to realize that if you appreciate the fall, you're not losing control."

She was looking at him with a heavy-lidded expression, her eyes crackling. "Keep talking," she murmured.

Snape paused. "I will not deny that someone closer to your age would be better suited for you, emotionally. If you are wishing to experience the Dark Arts though this particular branch, then I may…_consider_ offering my services. But I strongly suggest that you find a different partner, someone who you are attracted to, and who will continue to be there in a fulfilling relationship."

"Your voice," Hermione said, somewhat thickly, "is incredibly sexy."

The Potion's master stopped short.

She swallowed, and twisted in her seat, slipping her oversized gray sweater off one shoulder. "I feel…I'm not sure. _Warm_. And tingly."

His eyes narrowed, and a thousand questions popped into his mind.

"Have you ever had an orgasm, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked as affronted as her arousal would allow. "Of course. I've had _several,_ actually."

"Several."

"Yes. Five, in fact. I've done some discreet studies and I'm _certain_ I'm ahead of my peers," she said smugly, biting her lower lip and looking at him alluringly.

His mind changed in an instant.

"Miss Granger, I would be honored to accept your proposal. I offer my services for the duration of one night, or however long it takes to sate your curiosity. On one condition: I select the location and the time. I will collect you when I am fully prepared and desire your company." He stood.

Startled, she shook her head. "I-I'm sorry? You're saying yes?"

"Indeed."

"Oh, _thank_ you, Professor!" she cried, and flung herself onto him. "I just _know_ everything going to be perfect, you're a teacher, you'll do an excellent job!"

He patted her head somewhat awkwardly. "Please release your arms from my torso, Miss Granger."

* * *

**Bit of a short chapter, **and slightly more serious, but eh, what can you do. I have to admit, I laughed writing that little inner monologue there in the middle.

Fun fact—originally Hermione was going to pin Snape to an armchair and demand at wandpoint that he take her virginity. Decided to go about it this way; it's stretching her canon personality either way, thought it would be a little more sincere this way, and not just off-the-wall humor.

Touched at all the reviews! You people make me laugh, this is a welcoming fanbase. ;) I'm sticking around in the Sevione fandom for a bit, I've shipped them for years.

Also, in case you couldn't tell, smut is approaching. Not to mention I think I'm going to write a sequel to this. Too much fun. -_nylex_


	4. IV

**perfection  
**[IV]

* * *

He was putting her off.

She only wanted to help. Snape hadn't spoken to her in two whole days, which meant tonight was the deadline and there was nothing she could do about it. This was the difficulty in working with a partner—one person invariably ended up doing all the work, while the other sat back and received the easy grade! She tried cornering him, but he either put her off with a sharp-tongued reprimand, which left her flummoxed, or else someone interrupted. It was getting to be ridiculous.

That morning, she passed him a little note with the butter.

_I know you're putting me off. If you're getting cold feet just say so. –H_

He read the note underneath the table with no expression on his face. Hermione pretended to be busy with her toast and jam, but was glaring at him over a crust of bread. It was hard to look enraged with jam all over one's face, but somehow she managed it.

An answering note passed by her with the pitcher of cocoa.

_Far from it. However I refuse to indulge in your idiotic whims of a deadline or other such nonsense. After the holiday madness we'll get around to it.-S_

Furiously, Hermione scribbled a note and tore it out of her notebook, slipping it down the table in the cinnamon roll basket. Snape had to dust off icing before reading the cramped, hastily written note.

_Unacceptable. We'll do it tonight, in my room._ _–H_

An answering reply came sailing towards her with the orange juice.

_Stop and think, idiot child. Your room is adjourning Arthur and Molly's—I'm not going to stick my cock into something that Molly would have to pull me out of. –S_

Hermione fumed while she wrote a reply on her thigh, and then wrapped the slip of paper around a muffin. Snape unwrapped the note along with the muffin liner.

_Don't say such vulgar things. Tonight, I don't care where but it can't be dirty or dusty or uncomfortable. My room is the cleanest. –H_

He took a very long time in replying, and Hermione ate an entire poached egg in the meantime. She stared at him, watching and angrily wondering what kind of scathing reply she would have to write.

Snape tucked the note underneath a pancake and passed it down the table to Hermione.

_Does a word like 'cock' bother you? I wonder what else bothers you. Should we use more professional terms, like 'vagina' and 'penis' and 'fellatio'? I wonder how much it would bother you if I dragged you away from this table and bent you over the parlor couch then proceeded to deflower you beneath a wall of mounted House Elf heads? Or maybe I could bury my face in that lovely little quim while Mrs. Black shrieked obscenities at you? _

_But no, that wouldn't do. No, Miss Granger, I intend on taking your virginity slowly, with exquisite care, at my own leisure. And that cannot be accomplished with thirty or forty people all banging about in the house. –S_

Hermione felt a sudden, powerful flare of arousal. It shot straight through it like a lance of pure lightning, firing up every nerve ending and sending blood rushing to her cheeks and lips. There was a little tingling sensation in her fingers, as she pictured herself, legs spread wide, Snape between them, doing _wicked_ things with his hands and saying _Miss Granger_ in that snarly, satiny voice.

Decapitated House Elf heads or no, that was a hot image.

She stood, and dropped her napkin on the table. "I'll be back," she said in a somewhat strangled voice.

Blood thundering in her ears, she stumbled into the parlor and sat on the couch. There was a sweet, fizzy itch between her legs and she rubbed at it, hoping it would go away. The risk! It was so dangerous to write such a thing in the presence of all her friends, and yet she kept reading the note, watching the words transform into images. Bent over the arm of the couch, _that_ sounded excellent at this moment. And Severus would put his…his _cock_ into her, and then maybe…maybe…

Ooh, yes, that sounded _lovely _right about now. His mouth on her nipple, mouthing and _teething_ and _sucking_…his fingers stroking her and he would _slam_ into her, making the whole couch shake…

"You look quite flushed," a voice purred in her ear.

Hermione clamped her thighs together. "Shut up," she hissed, and shoved the note at him. "Are you mad, writing this and passing it to me at the table?"

Those obsidian eyes narrowed in a dangerous smile. "Perhaps. Do you see my situation, now? I don't wish to be rushed and busied about, Miss Granger."

She squeezed her thighs together more tightly. That itch _still_ wouldn't go away. "Yes, yes, I understand, now please, I need to go…rub something, I think. Or perhaps take a shower."

_Oh_, but he was cruel. Still smiling, he leaned against the doorway. "Mm. I'm curious how you deal with this situation, Miss Granger—surely this isn't the first time you've been uncomfortably aroused?"

His voice, wouldn't he just_ shut up_? "Of course not. I usually…I mean, I usually try and…you know—and then it won't work, and it'll go away."

"_What_ won't work?"

She huffed. "I try to _masturbate_, I mean, and it usually doesn't work. It just…it takes too long, so I calm down, and the feeling goes away."

Snape unbuttoned his cuffs purposefully, rolling up his sleeves. "Clearly, you're doing it wrong. Part your legs, silly woman."

Part of her thrilled at the mention of _woman_ instead of _girl_, and the other part was spasming in fear at the idea of someone walking in on them, which was a distinct possibility since everyone was just outside the parlor door. What would happen if Harry, for instance, came in here while this was going on? Somehow that added to the attraction, and she spread her legs, hiking up her woolen skirt.

He hooked his thumbs around the elastic waistband of her tights and pulled them down, letting them bunch around one leg. With little ceremony, he hiked her knees up and descended on her, not bothering to tease or flirt; his tongue stroked her slit, top to bottom, and it sent a twinge of hard, pure _pleasure_ straight to Hermione's core.

"_Severus_!" she gasped, and her knees involuntarily tightened around his shoulders. "The…the others!"

"There's a silencing charm," he said, somewhat offhandedly, and resumed his work.

It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. In the past, if she worked hard at it, her orgasm could be reached in an hour or two, with her arousal waxing and waning; this was like rolling thunder, and her tight inner muscles _clenched_, hard, and abruptly she wanted _more_. More of what, she didn't know, but the idea of a thick, hard cock ramming into her was making her cry out. Was there a silencing charm? What if the others burst in and watched, standing silently while Severus twisted his tongue through her folds; the idea sent another bolt of pleasure into her belly and she cried out in earnest this time, her hips rising up off the couch cushions.

Everything in her sizzled at the same time, each nerve ending firing up, and Hermione twisted her fingers through Snape's dark black hair, going blind with desire. Her orgasm thundered through her system until she felt nearly wrung out, limp and overstimulated.

Snape bit her inner knee gently. "Calmer?"

She nodded, feeling tired.

He slapped her inner thigh and stood, looking completely unruffled. "Once you've collected yourself, we shall return to breakfast."

In her hazy state, she nearly missed the bulge in his trousers, the obvious sign of arousal; nearly, but not quite. She hooked a foot around his knee and stopped him, causing him to look back.

Feeling rather debauched, what with her spread legs and sticky thighs, and glared up at him. "You're not just leaving me like this," she demanded. "Somewhere. Anywhere. _Now_."

If possible, his eyes got even darker. "Leave the knickers," he ordered, and hauled her upright.

Barefoot, with no tights and no knickers, Hermione followed him to the front door, where they Apparated.

* * *

Arthur Weasley poked his head in the parlor door. "Hermione?"

He was greeted with crumpled knickers and a rather odd looking stain on the sofa cushions.

* * *

_I decided to split this chapter up because it got too long. Proper smut coming up! _**nylex**


	5. V

**perfection  
**[5]

* * *

Hermione realized the folly of her actions almost immediately, when she heard the bustle and chatter of people.

_Where_ were they? In an instant she knew—the Leaky Cauldron. Horror flipped through her and she tightened her grip on Snape's arm, nails digging into his elbow. "Professor," she hissed between her teeth, "I'm not wearing _knickers_!"

"Don't remind me," Snape said dryly, and marched towards the main bar. Tom, who was endlessly polishing a dusty glass, looked up. If he was surprised to see a scowling Severus Snape with a flushing Hermione Granger in tow, he didn't show it.

"Something I can do for you?" Tom queried.

"Yes. A room for one, if you please," Snape replied, his voice remarkably calm. Hermione was squirming, certain the rest of the patrons were looking at her. Could they…could they see her _bum_ in this skirt? She'd never stopped to think: and yet, she'd never thought she'd be standing barefoot in the Leaky Cauldron with a draft around her nether bits. But it always helped to be _prepared_.

Snape paid, and began to hustle her upstairs. "Miss!" Tom stopped them, and Hermione died very slowly inside. Beneath the embarrassment and horror, there was a distinct flicker of arousal, and there was something running down her thigh; if she didn't do something it would drip all over the floor.

She crossed her legs and turned around. "Yes?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do you need some shoes?"

The world froze, tilted on the axis, and suddenly snapped back into focus.

"I _am_ wearing shoes."

It seemed like the whole pub went quiet.

"Yes! You see, it's part of an experiment Professor Snape and I are working on, we're testing clothing articles with extended wards of invisibility—right now the _material_ itself is invisible, but we're stuck trying to get the wearer invisible as well. We would normally be working on this in the lab, but there was a bit of an accident, and since its Christmas Eve we didn't really want to disturb anyone, so we thought we'd stop in here and work for a while in one of the rooms. Don't worry, we won't leave a mess."

"Oh," Tom said after a moment. "Well, shout if you need anything!"

"We will!" Hermione chirped, and then practically dragged Snape upstairs.

Heart nearly bursting out of her chest, she slammed the door behind them and jabbed her wand at it, locking it and throwing up a temporary ward.

"That," Snape remarked, somewhat out of breath, "was very Ravenclaw, Miss Granger."

"I was nearly in Ravenclaw, but the old hat kept muttering and chummering so I told him to get on with it, and he stuck me in Gryffindor," Hermione panted in a rush, falling down on the bed. "God! I thought he had caught us. I was about to _die_, I don't know where all that came from."

"The small, rational part of your mind which tries so dearly to escape," Snape commented, unbuttoning his outer coat.

Hermione smiled, and looked up at him with a wave of affection. His insults were so very familiar.

And then it dawned on her why she was here, and why Snape was undressing.

"Um," Hermione began.

"Getting cold feet?" Snape asked, almost innocently, unlacing his boots.

"Only because I was dragged out of the house without _shoes_," Hermione said defensively. "And of course not. I'm just running through…schematics."

"_Schematics_," Severus repeated, rolling up the sleeves of his high-collared black shirt. He took a seat and steepled his fingers, as though deep in thought. "I propose this, as an idea. You are free to ignore it or suggest another plan of action, as it were."

Hermione sat up. At last, he was taking this seriously! "Yes?"

"Lay down on that bed, spread your legs, and let me fuck you silly."

She rolled her eyes and fell back on the bed, running her hands through her thick mane of hair. "I reject your proposal out of hand," she answered flatly. "Come up with another."

"If you reject my idea, then the responsibility passes to _you_, Miss Granger."

Hermione squirmed. "It's not _my job_ to come up with every detail! You got me here, hurrah for you! Now what?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Hermione could hear the softly ticking clock in the background, along with the soft murmur of voices downstairs in the lobby. It was almost…peaceful.

She jumped when Severus stroked her hair. He had crossed the room very quietly, and she hadn't been paying attention; when he took a seat on the bed next to her, she rested her forehead against his knee.

"You're still frightened."

"Of course not."

"I must remind you that I am, modestly speaking, the most talented Legilimens currently living."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I'm _not_ frightened. And I want this to happen. I just…"

"You're frightened, Miss Granger. Which is a perfectly normal reaction."

She sat bolt upright, glowering at him. Frightened? She might have been afraid once, a few days ago, when the idea first crossed her mind—but after weeks of planning for this event, and then days of refining her blueprint, she would be _damned_ before Severus Snape spoilt the whole thing by calling her a coward.

Pushing him forcefully down on the bed, she swung her leg over his lap and straddled him. "I am _not_ afraid," she growled.

He folded his arms behind his head. "_Convince_ me, Miss Granger. I see a tremor in your hands."

Damn that sneer. She wanted to kiss him, but was kissing allowed? Hermione had kissed four boys before in her life, and considered herself _somewhat_ skilled; but they weren't there to grope like teenagers. She bit her lower lip in concentration and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Slowly, Miss Granger, wouldn't want to be _rushed_." Snape instructed, his voice dropping to a low purr.

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, in what she hoped was a seductive expression. "You'd better be nice to me," Hermione ordered, slipping her blouse off one shoulder. "Otherwise the rest of this isn't coming off."

Still pleased with herself for coming up with that line, she took note of Snape's expression. His eyes were dark and laced with a challenge, so she let her head fall back, her hair curling wildly around her shoulders, and rubbed against his upper thigh.

Cracking one eye open, she checked his expression. Still unchanged.

"Mmm…You've probably thought a lot about this, haven't you?" Hermione hummed, her eyes still closed. She'd try a different tactic. "Fantasied about your _student_ humping your leg like some kind of animal. I'm not even wearing any _knickers_. I did that, you know—once, when I was in your class."

She pushed her bra strap off one shoulder, and then the other, twisting it around in order to unhook it. Playfully, she tossed the item behind her and then stretched over his chest, propping her chin under her hands. "I did it on a dare, just for fun. I sort of hoped you would notice, and then you'd _punish_ me somehow."

Coyly, Hermione bit her lower lip. "How would you have punished me, Professor?"

Oh, she was _good_.

Severus was actually…rather impressed. She wielded her sexuality like a blunt instrument but she didn't _need_ to have much finesse—her earnestness and beautiful body did most of the work. He sat up, eyeing the way her breasts pressed softly together.

She had her fun. Now, it was time to show her how it was done.

"That depends on how you behaved in the classroom, Miss Granger. Did you touch yourself in my class? Perhaps while I was speaking? Thinking of my voice, while you played with yourself under the desk?"

Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips.

"If you had, it would warrant a _much_ harsher punishment. A simple spanking wouldn't suffice; I would keep those pretty, busy hands tied behind your back, perhaps with that school necktie you wear so often. And then I would strip you, put your over my desk, and taste every inch of your skin."

Hermione was grinding against his waist now, and he had begun to thumb her nipples idly. "That…doesn't sound like much of a _punishment_," Hermione pointed out, and then gasped when he squeezed her breast lightly.

"No? Being kept on edge…for however long I saw fit. Denied a climax until you were _begging_ for me to touch you, to fuck you. That very nearly happened this morning, didn't it? Right at the breakfast table. Underneath the noses of all your friends, who could have come in at any moment."

"Oh _God_," Hermione whined, and arched. "Stop, stop, just _please_, do something!"

"Specificity is your friend."

"Fuck me!"

"Mmm, a tempting offer, but one I think I will have to refuse at the moment," Snape answered, and slipped a hand between her legs. She cried out and twisted her fingers through his hair as he bent to suckle on a nipple.

"Don't make me _beg_," Hermione threatened, but her voice broke in the middle and voided the threat.

He smirked at her with her nipple still between his teeth.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. _"Don't_," she warned, in a much firmer tone.

"Or what, Miss Granger?"

* * *

He found out what.

* * *

Hermione snuggled up next to him, tied and utterly sated. "That was thrilling," she pronounced finally.

Snape didn't open his eyes. "And exhausting," he rasped.

She smacked his chest lightly. "You only have yourself to blame, I _told_ you to stop teasing."

"I had no idea you would repay me with such…_enthusiasm_."

"Well, now you do. For future reference."

There was a long pause.

"Miss Granger," he said, sounding tired, "Although I must admit this was more enjoyable than I had originally predicted, you do realize you no longer require my services?"

Hermione sat up in bed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I was thinking," she began, talking quickly, "you said…until my curiosity was sated. But I still don't know that much about sex as a Dark Magic yet—and I'm still curious."

"Yes, but you are now lacking a hymen, which was your original plan."

"Well, the plan's changed now," Hermione said, somewhat petulantly. "I thought we could do…weekly sessions? Maybe? Until I feel confident in the subject, that is."

Severus hesitated.

What man in their right mind would turn down frequent, mind-blowing sex with a young, beautiful witch who wanted to experiment?

Certainly not him.

* * *

They stayed in the room for the rest of the day, their energy waxing and waning. Snape brought Hermione to three rapid, consecutive orgasms with her hands secured above her head, and when she was finally exhausted and half-asleep, they retired to the bed. Hermione liked to cuddle, an activity of which he had never been overtly fond, but nonetheless endured because he was equally, if not more so, tired than his partner. She rested her head on his bare chest and fell fast asleep.

He was half asleep himself when there was a soft knock at the door. Hermione didn't even stir.

Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding world, poked his head in and stared.

Severus raised his wand and pointed it directly at the boy's face.

Without a word, albeit with a dazed look on his face, the door was shut.

* * *

_Thinking of writing a sequel to this, where Hermione and Snape have lots of experimental kinky sex while Ron and Harry clutch their pearls and remain the ever-horrified bystanders. While Harry and Draco occasionally bang. Because I haven't written enough gay wizard sex yet. -_**nylex**


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